


Black Magic Woman

by Olivia_Janae



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:19:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_Janae/pseuds/Olivia_Janae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She's a black magic woman and she’s trying to make a devil out of me"</p><p>Just a quick little one-shot I was thinking about tonight. Quick and un-beta'ed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Magic Woman

For those of you who haven't heard the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95H1MegGgao

* * *

 

 

“Madam Mayor?” Emma knocked on the white door again, frowning. “Ma-” Ugh, she felt like an ass. Madam Mayor? Really? Is this what her life had become? She was calling someone fucking ‘madam fucking mayor’? Who did that? Who made people call them that? 

Ice queens, that’s who.

Fucking frigid ass ice queens with a strange affinity for apples and cutting designer labels.

Still, she knocked again. 

Play nice. She was playing nice with this stupid fucking bitch of a woman - because that was the only way she was going to see her kid. Bitch or not, the woman was fucking powerful in this podunk town.

“Ugh,  _ really _ ? Madam Mayor!  _ Mayor Mills! _ ” She knocked a little louder. This was great. She didn’t even want to do this dinner. She was sure she still had some paperwork to sign, and surely there was some kid - tipping a cow over somewhere or - something. She wasn’t just going to stand here, making an ass out of herself. “Come on.” Okay, this was stupid. She was just going to go in - hopefully this woman didn’t own a gun. She tried the door, surprised when she found that it gave with ease. 

“Hello?” She called. “Madam Mayor? Err, Regina? Hello? Henry?”

Was that...she frowned as she heard the riff of a smooth Spanish guitar floating from the back of the house. “Mada - Reg - ugh, um, hello?” 

The only response she heard was the zipping beat of the washboard fading into nothing as the song drew to a close.

Was that Santana? 

What the hell was Santana doing in Storybrooke? This wasn’t really a Santana kind of town. Maybe Hall & Oats - or some Janis Ian for a few of the straggling hippies - but not  _ Santan _ a. That was far too exotic, far too - I don’t know - what made a town not qualified for Carlos Santana?

“Hello?” 

Okay well. She was a cop now - kind of - and before that she had literally hunted people for a living. She could, you know, walk ten feet down the hall and see where the hell her son’s mother was...right? 

The music faded into silence, one song ending and a new slid into a sleek riff, the notes high and exotic, the drum tickling between Emma’s shoulders, naturally infections. 

She kind of loved this song. She always had. 

It was sexy, speaking of exactly what a woman could do to you just by flashing deep chocolate eyes across the room at you. 

God, Emma was a sucker for eyes likes those.

Well. The mayor might be a high strung tight ass but she apparently had good taste in music.

She opened her mouth to call again but now that she was this far into the house, suddenly, she found that she had lost her voice. Instead she swallowed her words down, her feet moving her quickly before she lost her courage. 

She wasn’t intimidated. She just uh - needed to move - at a brisk pace. 

From the kitchen she heard the sound of a wine cork popping.

Okay, fucking finally. 

She turned the corner, taking a deep breath and readying herself for whatever Regina was going to throw at her...and stopped cold. 

Her brow pulled together, and again the words dried like water on parched sand; her mouth hanging open.

At first she couldn’t place it - something was different.

The guitar began to halt and catch, creating a beat.

She knew that people were different in their own homes, when there were no eyes on them and yeah, Emma was early but for just a second she didn’t recognize her.

There was something in the air - something she never would have connected with Regina Mills - who, sure, she was sexy, but was also kind of...well she could scare the arousal out of pretty much anything with that snarl that always lived on her face.

She wasn’t facing her and Emma was glad, but even facing away from her Emma could see this wasn’t that cold fucking bitch she had been dealing with; not in this moment. I mean, yes, she was dressed the same, in that same fucking skin tight black dress that showed off her arms and her stockinged legs - it was the same type of shit she always saw her in. But, she watched as the brunette’s slender fingers tipped the bottle of wine, the burgundy liquid pouring slowly into the bed of the glass. Emma frowned as she watched it pour, swirling and then settling. 

She hadn’t been expecting company yet. Clearly. The counter was littered with half chopped vegetables, peppers, onions and cilantro, filling the room with a savory aroma that promised of mouthwatering dishes. 

The mayor’s hair was out of it’s usual perfectly tight and pristine bob, as a matter of fact, it hung ruffled and full around her face, fluffed as though hands had only recently been in it, clenching, intertwining within it, hiding her profile. 

She had never known that the messy look would be so...

The guitar went high and she saw a small stretch of her shoulders, a loosening, an appreciation as though her body was waking, sensing the music and purring. 

The drums picked up and the voice began to sing, “ _ Got a black magic woman. Got a black magic woman. I’ve got a black magic woman, got me so blind I can’t see that she's a black magic woman and she’s trying to make a devil out of me. _ ” 

Her mouth was dry. She tried to moisten it, tried to run her dry tongue across her lips but the task was forgotten, distracted as an arm languidly reached across the counter and a single painted finger turned the knob, turning up the volume as she took a sip, that ruffled hair falling back, swishing as she lightly shook it out. 

Had her shoulders always been so smooth? Her waist so small, her hips so shapely? 

Emma felt a twitch in her stomach, one small but demanding twitch.

 

It started out softly. At first the brunette’s head only moved, bobbing so slightly that Emma wasn’t even sure she was seeing it. Then her hair began to swish, and a single shoulder began to dip. 

Emma blinked a few times, shifting, wondering if now was the time she should say something - anything - anything at all - only she was transfixed. 

The shoulder fell and with it suddenly the spine that was always so staunchly straight did something amazing. It followed the dip, suddenly curving like a snake and with it first went one hip, and then the other. 

She watched from her place in the doorway, stunned as the woman began to slither against the air in time to the music, curling.

Emma’s hands went into her back pocket - her mouth opening yet again but... 

 

“ _ Don’t turn your back on my baby. Don’t turn you back on me baby. Yes, don’t turn your back on me, baby, start messing around with your tricks. Don't turn your back on me, baby, you might just pick up my magic sticks. _ ”

 

She didn’t mean to, really she didn’t, this was the last person she would want to - but her eyes followed, watching the new sway, watching the way she swished, mesmerized when, though full lips closed on the edge of the glass, sipping, her other arm went out, flowing through the air, following as her knees bent and she was moving, her entire body, in time with Santana’s voice. Her wrist curled, fingers extending, flexing loose.

She couldn’t process - this. She watched the lithe woman move, only realizing her teeth had caught her lip when she felt the sting. 

This was - but then her mind went silent, falling into a numb buzzing as she forgot to do anything but watch. 

 

The guitar screamed, picking and plucking as those suddenly so distracting hips popped, side to side.

It was only then that Emma saw she was, for once, free of her usual stuffy high heels, her stockinged feet bare on the smooth tile. It was as though the cover was being peeled back on the cold exterior, exposing the woman underneath.

Her toes were painted red, the same red as her lips. 

Emma’s eyes moved, following as the second arm went out, wine still cupped carefully and yet, she was swaying, sinking into a swirling, spiraling circle as her chest popped with a spice that - how had she never noticed that before? 

 

“ _ Got your spell on me baby. You got your spell on me, baby. Yes, you’ve got your spell on me, baby, turning my heart into stone. I need you so bad, magic woman I can’t leave you alone. _ ” 

 

Her palms were sweaty. She rubbed them against the butt of her jeans, but that didn’t seem to dry them. And her stomach, oh god, suddenly it felt as though she had filled it with a strong, warm spot of bourbon. 

She had to say something - she didn’t want to say something - she -

The guitar gave a long soulful whine and with it the hip swayed to one side as though on a lift, a free hand tangling roughly in her hair as it rose. Her whole body twisted with the motion, following the hip before it fell with a fast swish, only to lift on the other side, her torso pulling the opposite direction, shaking, rolling.

She was staring suddenly at something she never thought she would, the round shape of the mayor’s ass, noticing the thin line under the fabric that followed the curve of her body.

Her eyes followed that curve, from hip to...

And then the guitar changed, joining harshly with the drums and with it Regina’s body changed, her smooth movements becoming fast, erratic - untamed: pop-pop, pop-pop, pop-pop, swinging back and forth fast and hard, her feet sliding, her hair going wild as she twisted, flailing to this side and that.

She - she - 

She watched her rock against nothing, moving with the drums, with the melody like they were lovers. 

The beat began to pick up and with it so did Regina, spinning, her head swishing back and forth, whipping. 

Emma’s hands gave a harsh, twitching flex in her pockets.

She watched the way her stomach rolled, her hips thrusting and grinding, her thighs popping. 

Distracted she didn’t notice when the woman's hair shifted and warm liquid irises fell on green; not until Emma heard a little scream and heard the sound of glass shattering on the floor. 

Emma blinked. She should probably look up from those thighs, exposed as the dress had ridden up ever so slightly exposing a warm, smooth thigh and the bottom of a black buckle. 

It was a surprising struggle, making her eyes move but she won. Regina had frozen, arms still out, her face blank with open shock. 

Emma couldn’t move.

So they just stared at one another. 

Fuck.

Emma knew she should speak but - 

Emma wasn’t supposed to have seen any of this. That was clear on the flushed face of Storybrooke’s mayor.

Now what were they going to do? 

“I uh-” 

Regina straightened, sharply, smoothing her dress but though she patted and forced herself back into orderly tidiness, her hair still flowed wild around her face, her eyes still large and glued on the woman across the room. 

“I uh-” Emma said again. 

Deep red lips parted ever so slightly and Emma was dizzy.

The guitar slammed to a halt and suddenly the room filled with silence.

“I uh-” 

Emma was suddenly stepping forward.

  
  
  



End file.
